


Roots

by laridaes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laridaes/pseuds/laridaes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Gran's death, Neville uncovers a mystery surrounding his parents' past. Originally written for the 2007 Springtime Gen Fic, a gift for gallifreygal.  A wee bit not canon-compliant as it was written before everything panned out.</p><p>But aww heck I can't leave Snape a bad guy! So that I am going to fix. </p><p>Well this makes me scratch my head - why did I start out this fic with that opening scene? Too long ago to remember!  It doesn't seem to match the rest at all! Hmmm.  Oh well I will just leave it!  Strange...  :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roots

~ ~prius~ ~

"Are you sure he went this way?" he shouted as he ran after Hermione up the rock-strewn hill. His shoes slipped on the slick grass and he fell hard to his knees. Sharp pain shot through them, curling around all the other aches he'd thought his body had grown used to and flaming them anew. He braced himself on his hands, closing his eyes for a moment to catch his breath and to push away that which he didn't have time to deal with.

"Neville, hurry!"

"I'm coming." To himself he muttered, "Yes, I'm fine, Hermione, thanks." He straightened, wiping his hands on his clothes but it did little good. It had rained earlier, soaking them both to the skin through their tattered, filthy cloaks. The bloody things stank. With a grimace he followed, fighting the weariness that begged him to rest. He'd promised he would stay with her.

Spring's earliest flowers were already struggling to the surface and his mind could not help but catalog them by name and classification as he forced himself up the hill. It was deceptively pretty here, one small swath of fields not yet strewn with bodies of the dead.

"Hurry up, you're wasting time," Hermione said, frustration making her voice rise. They'd been looking for Harry for hours. Neither dared to use magic to navigate their way lest doing so revealed their location. So far, they hadn't been tracked. It was the only reason they were still alive. Neville wasn't too optimistic their luck would continue. He'd give anything for Harry's invisibility cloak now.

Hermione reached the hill's crest. He gathered some small bank of energy and forced himself upwards. She whirled to face him, nearly making him run into her as he too reached the summit. He grabbed her arm to steady himself as he looked down the other side of the hill to the endless fields beyond.

Nothing.

"I don't think he came this way, Hermione," he said.

"He had to have. Where else could he have gone?" Unspoken was the reality; there was nowhere else, because everywhere else but their camp had been destroyed, or taken over by the Death Eaters.  
"We just haven't caught up to him yet."

She trembled beneath his hand as she stared down the hill, clearly exhausted to the point of dropping at his feet. But she would not give up. Harry had come this way, she was convinced, and though the last remnants of their group had given up looking for the day, Hermione had refused to.

Ron had begged him--him, of all people--to stay with her because he no longer could. He'd wanted to refuse, anyone else would've been better, but Ron's hand on his shoulder and the look in his eye made Neville nod.

He hoped that wasn't the last time he saw his injured friend.

He shook his head, brushed his soaked hair from his eyes with one grimy hand. He would stay with Hermione to the end if need be. Which probably would be the case the way things were going. They were losing, and badly. Losing ground, losing numbers, losing the belief that Voldemort could be defeated. He didn't think any of them thought they would survive another week of this bitter war.

Except of course Hermione. Neville had already learned not to argue against her unerring conviction that the enemy would be defeated. He'd always been slightly in awe of Hermione Granger, her intelligence and her bravery. Next to her, he felt a bumbling idiot whether it was in the classroom or on the battlefield. It had been easy to accept her as their group's leader once Ron had been hurt. No one had questioned it, and no one had given a moment's consideration to he being the next-likely choice even though he had helped Ron devise most of their successful plans of attack. He'd been bloody grateful to step aside and take the place where he belonged--behind Hermione.

"We should go back. It's almost dark."

"I know. But I can't, Neville. If there is any chance of stopping him, we have to. I can't believe he did this. Why did he go alone? He can't fight Voldemort by himself. He needs us," she added, her expression stubborn. "Why did he leave us?"

He searched vainly for words of comfort. He wasn't used to playing this role. "I don't know."

He knew she didn't want to believe Harry'd abandoned them, but Neville couldn't help but wonder. Harry had been so quiet these last few days, wouldn't eat, just drank the water Ginny forced on him. Short of temper--more so than usual--and Neville had seen him walk off by himself more than once when they should've all been asleep. He wondered what Harry was thinking about then. Like he did Hermione, he admired Harry too. But he also held his friend somewhat in awe. Maybe he was even a little scared of Harry because he was everything Neville was not. Strong. Brave, and very, very smart. Neville knew that if he had been the one scarred by Voldemort, he would never have survived all that Harry had. Now, though, he just wasn't sure even Harry would survive this terrible war.

Hermione looked as disheveled as he. Was as mud--and blood--caked as he. And as sick, and tired, and no doubt terrified as he, even though she tried not to show it. He wanted to go home. But he knew she would make him go on.

"We're going to have to split up."

"What?" he sputtered. "Hermione, no way, you're not--"

She gave him That Look. The one that Ron warned him meant "I've made up my mind, you silly git. Sit down and do as I say."

He wasn't about to sit though he wondered if that would at least slow her down a second. Separate? That was the most insane idea he'd ever heard of.

"You go down there; see that grove of trees?"

He looked. Oh god he looked. And cringed. It was a dark wood far to the right of where they stood, not a mere grove of trees. And though he knew there would be amazing botanical treasure galore in those depths now was not the time to think of Herbology.

"Hermione, I, um, am not sure--"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and raised her chin. She was so pale, so... Hermione at that moment. "I'll go to the left, to that one." She pointed to the left, where a river bend cradled a small stand of trees. The river disappeared behind them but he swore the last of the late afternoon wintry sun shone brightly on that spot. "Maybe we can find a trail, or something. Look for footprints, broken twigs, anything like that."

He shivered, aware of how chilled he was. "We could go together--"

"No. Not enough time." She headed to the left, down the hill toward the river and the trees. "Meet back here in fifteen minutes then we'll decide what to do."

He stood alone on the hill, and watched her march straight for her destination. He turned his head and looked at his own, and gulped. His hand automatically caressed the wand tucked in at his side, then pulled it out. He walked down the hill toward the dark, mysterious forest, his heart thumping madly, his aching knees shaking.

Neville's footsteps jarred his entire body as the hill steepened. He had to fight not to slip and fall on his bum. He came close, several times, the bottom of his shoes were so muddy. The thought that he'd have to go back up this hill because, of course, he wouldn't find anything did little to cheer him.

He lost sight of Hermione, but the dark forest was before him. It wasn't a true forest of course, just a little grove of trees, but it was eerily quiet and black as midnight. The scent of rotten leaves overpowered everything. He stood at its edge for a long moment, his hand clutched tight around his wand. He took a step closer, and then cast a look over his shoulder. Alone, completely alone.

He should've heard owls or something. Or some birds of some kind or other in there. The chittering of squirrels perhaps, the whir of insects, but unfortunately he heard nothing. More than nothing--

All was deathly still. No, no one in there.

There was no reason to go in there now. It was completely empty. A waste of time. Peering into the shadowed depths where not even wind rustled leaf, he saw nothing that he wanted to examine closer. But, he'd promised Hermione he'd look so he had to.

Just as he'd promised Ron not to leave her.

Stupid stupid stupid…

A twig snapped deep within the trees. He sucked in his breath. Then, his whole body fell into a dark dank hole of disbelief as he heard the unmistakable crackle of wand battling wand.

"You killed them!" Harry's voice.

Neville nearly sank to his knees. No.

Venomous laughter shot through the forest and he found somehow he'd stepped forward, penetrating the gloom. Following the crackle of wand-fire he tried to stay quiet and unseen, keeping behind trees while drawing closer, closer…

And then he saw them.

Harry, on his knees, blood streaming from his face. One arm hung at an impossible angle. His shirt, torn, his glasses gone. Voldemort towering over him, perched on a rock, his snake-like face leering in triumph.

"Kill them? I devoured them! You little fool. They were easier to kill than rats. Especially your mother. The fear in her eyes, so delicious to see--"

"NO!" Harry pushed himself to his feet but held his wand aloft still, arcing it toward Voldemort's. Voldemort easily countered it with his own, holding Harry in duel. Neville sucked in his breath, filled with indecision. He grasped the wand in his sweaty hand, his heart raced with fear and horror as with another cry Harry flung his wand-fire at Voldemort's chest in a vain attempt to break through the barrier.

The Dark Lord's laughter filled the forest. Birds shrieked and flapped away, a deer bounded helter skelter into the small clearing and with a flick of his hand that terrified Neville for the ease of which he did it, Voldemort froze the hapless animal in place. For as long as he lived, Neville would not forget the terror in the deer's soft brown eyes--nor what was about to happen. Within seconds the deer had disintegrated into black dust--Neville nearly gagged on the smell.

Voldemort was doing nothing more than toying with Harry. He was going to win, and knew it.

Behind him, he heard cautious footsteps.

A harsh whisper. "Neville?" Hermione!

No… Panic nearly pulverized Neville as Voldemort had the deer. He started to back off, warn Hermione but it was too late. Voldemort's soulless eyes turned toward them and zeroed in. Neville found himself between the Dark Lord and Hermione and his promise flashed through his mind.

Take care of her. I trust you, Neville. She needs you.

As Ron's words seared through his mind, Neville took a step. His muddy shoe slipped on the slick dead leaves. He found himself catapulted forward, his arm extended. His wand hand pointed at Voldemort and it became clear to him in that second what he must do.

"Locomotor Mortis!" Neville shouted even as he fell on his face with a thump. It took all his strength to not drop his wand as the jinx shot from it and hit his target--the Dark Lord's lower legs. With a scream of fury, Voldemort broke his wand away from Harry. Neville closed his eyes, and awaited his death.

It never came.

 

~ ~ordiri~ ~

 

"Neville," Hermione hissed.

Neville blinked. Turned to Hermione, noted the frown, and looked around. Everyone was looking at him. Hermione, Ron, Seamus. Ginny's look was one of concern. Mrs. Turbel, Mrs. Leeds and her daughter Tabitha--who made Neville want to faint with fright the way she looked at him with, he suspected she thought, doe-like eyes but they rather looked like a demented owl's. Unblinking, and cross-eyed. Terrifying. The reporters from the Daily Prophet stood off to the side, watching him as they always did. It seemed a fellow couldn't blow his nose these days without them reporting about it. He imagined those behind him also must be wondering what in blazes, as Great Uncle Algie had become fond of saying lately, he was doing standing there like a bloody fool whilst everyone waited for him to do-- What?

Fingers dug into his arm. He looked up. The preacher stared down at him, a thin but patient smile plastered on his face. Two men in black and bored expressions leaned on shovels beside the grave. They'd lowered the casket in. What was he to do--

Raindrops began to fall.

"Oh. Yes. Sorry." His face heated. Glad of the rain as surely now things would hurry along a bit, he grabbed a rose from the vase and winced, snatching his hand back. He stared at the tip of his finger. A single drop of blood welled there upon his scarred skin. Not bothering to wipe it away, he took the rose--avoiding the thorns this time--and walked solemnly over to the open grave.

He glanced at the unmarked freshly covered grave next to the open one. His father's. It'd only been a month since his father had at last slipped into peace. It seemed hard to believe, hard to accept. He didn't think Gran ever had. Neville pushed away the still-unshed tears and stared down at the pearl white casket waiting. A wave of loss and fear swept through him as he held the rose aloft. His hand shook and he knew all could see it, yet he couldn't stop the trembling no matter how much he willed his hand still. She's truly gone. He tossed the rose in--and immediately was blinded as light bulbs went off in his face.

No doubt, tomorrow's front page spread.

He groaned inwardly, whirled on his heel and somehow, despite being unable to see much, took his place again between Hermione and Ginny under the safety of their umbrella. They looped their arms through his and he was grateful yet again for their presence these last few days.

Great Uncle Algie stood, shuffled over to the vase and leaning on his cane, took another rose. Rain pelted his balding head, dampening the few strands of white carefully combed over it. Neville hated seeing how fragile the once-spry old man had become since Great Aunt Enid's death. The war had taken its toll on him as well.

"Farewell, Augusta," his uncle said. His voice broke, then strengthened as his words blanketed the crowd. "Tree of my life, Death's cruel foot, hath crushed thee down to thy hidden root. Nought shall restore thy glory fled . . . Shall the blossom live when the tree is dead?"

A shiver ran down Neville's back as Great Uncle Algie turned and looked at him, his eyes boring into Neville's own. Live, my boy. He shook his head as the words ghosted through him. Then Great Uncle Algie smiled, and returned to his seat.

Following him, Gran's friends each chose a blossom until a shower of roses covered the casket. He'd had no idea so many cared for his Gran. He was glad. He'd neglected her badly, this past year.

One last prayer by Father Bryce, and it was over.

Neville stood.

"I'd best get Ron out of this rain," Hermione said. "You all right, Neville?"

"Yes, I'm fine." He shook Ron's hand. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," Ron said. "A chance to get out of the house is never turned down."

Neville nodded. Pain still ghosted Ron's features--of the ones who survived, he'd definitely come out the worst. Still, the Healers said he would get better in time.

Neville walked over to the graves, looked down at Gran's and the scattered roses. His father's had only had three roses--his and Gran's and Great Uncle Algie's. Not until his mother passed away--safe at last from Bellatrix, who was still out there somewhere, would the markers be put in place. He brushed the rain from his face and sighed, taking a deep breath. He could barely catch the faintest whiff of the roses' scent. A touch of spring, though spring had yet to make its appearance. How he longed for it. It was the only thing he truly looked forward to. Within seconds a plump reporter with walrus moustache and watery blue eyes was in his face, his quill scratching madly on his notebook. Neville tensed.

"So Neville, how does it feel now that you're all alone? Sad? Dejected? How will you cope? What will you eat tonight? Are you soon on holiday? Where? Your fans want to know!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Neville started to say but it came out more a mumble.

"Come, come now, surely a holiday in Germany or Finland would do you some good? Nothing too good for our favorite hero!"

He looked around for help, but Hermione had already pushed Ron away from the gravesite out of the rain, and Ginny was too far away, corned by some of Gran's friends. Unfortunately, the rain suddenly decided to stop. The two cemetery workers had begun to yawn, impatiently waiting for them all to leave so they could start their grim task. Several of Gran's friends clustered together like so many bandy hens, dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs as they tried to outdo each other in their expressions of grief. No one around to help him. He tried to escape anyway but he was blocked, this time by a short blonde reporter not much older than himself who always made Neville somehow say the stupidest things. Yet she took them as gold, which made for unmerciful teasing by the few who dared do so. Namely, George and Ron. Checking the morning paper for Nevisms, as George had dubbed them, was a daily affair.

"Mr. Longbottom, please be so kind as to give me a quote? Your last words of wisdom meant so much to my column's readers. The Ladies Litany longs for more Longbottom. What will you do now? Perhaps share a recipe with us?"

"How about unicorn muck muffins?" a too familiar voice drawled.  
"Longbottom family recipe, I hear."

"Muck?" The blonde reporter's face screwed up as Draco Malfoy approached. "Do you mean mock?"

Malfoy grinned, flashing white teeth. The other reporter, still writing furiously though Neville had no idea what he could possibly be going on about, looked up expectantly. "Recipe?" he said.

"There is no recipe," Neville said in frustration. If it had been anyone but him rescuing Neville, he would've been grateful. But the blond young man with the slight limp and stylish cane did nothing but make Neville's anger rise to the fore. "Why are you here, Malfoy," Neville demanded. "You aren't welcome here."

Malfoy shrugged. The reporters whirled on them--the mustached reporter's quill actually paused. "Thought I'd pay my respects," he said. "I have something to discuss with you, if you can stand my presence long enough. But I'd rather do so in private." He glared at the reporters, then turned to Neville. "Somewhere we can talk?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

Malfoy hesitated, then his face hardened and he said, "I just ask that you listen." Malfoy waved at the female reporter with his cane. "Leave. Now. You are wanted here less than me."

Despite himself, but only for a second, Neville's curiosity piqued. Harry had come to trust the Slytherin for reasons he never understood, but he certainly didn't. Even though in the end, Harry had been right about Malfoy. Still, Neville didn't want Malfoy here. Not at Gran's funeral.

"No, you're wanted here less," Neville said. His face heated. He knew he sounded like a pouty child, and Malfoy's reaction didn't help.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

Finding courage in his anger, Neville said to the reporters, "I'll talk to you both later, I'm sure. Please leave."

As they left, quills scribbling on paper and heads bent, Hermione pushed past them and, fists clenched, started to stomp toward he and Malfoy. But before she got close enough to punch the former Slytherin, he said, "It's okay Hermione. Malfoy was just leaving."

"Do I have to beg?" Malfoy said softly, though his tone certainly didn't come near to beseeching. "It's important. I wouldn't bother you otherwise."

Neville hesitated.

"Are you sure, Neville?" Hermione said before he could reply.  
"George is still here." She folded her arms across her chest and glared at Malfoy.

"I-I'm sure. I'll see you and Ron later. Thanks for coming."

She raised her chin. "You're welcome, of course." She kissed him on the cheek, making his face heat up. With one last glare at Malfoy as if daring him to comment, Hermione left.

"Guess it's true," Malfoy said.

"What?" Neville said, exasperated.

Malfoy smiled. "You've even replaced Harry with them."

"Shut up." He barely kept his fist from punching the Slytherin's smug face. The only thing that stopped him was--it was true. Still angry and confused by his curiosity over why Draco Malfoy had shown up at Gran's funeral, he whirled on his heels and headed for the church. He knew Malfoy couldn't keep up. Like Ron, he'd suffered a severe leg injury. Only no one knew if Ron would ever be able to actually walk again, even with a cane like Malfoy. Only a few Slytherins survived the war, and all those but Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, and Adrian Pucey were in Azkaban. That Harry had believed in their change of allegiance was the only reason they were tolerated at all. But Harry no longer had a say in how things were run. Neville wanted nothing more than for Malfoy to disappear.

Throwing open a door that Neville knew led to a quiet, unused study, he waited for Malfoy. Only a desk and two chairs, an unlit fire and an overstuffed bookshelf graced the cold, dank room. Despite himself, as the Slytherin entered the room and shut the door, Neville found his heart clench as if the torment he'd suffered at the blond man's hands had happened yesterday. He angrily fought his reaction down.

"What do you want, Malfoy."

Malfoy smirked. "Not a mouse any longer, I see. Then again, you did kill Voldemort--"

"State what you want or get out."

"Fine fine. I just thought I'd mention something I found out from my mother before she left for Romania. It was an interesting conversation between herself and my aunt when they heard about your Gran."

Neville steeled himself. He didn't want to hear anything they may have said. He had to bite back an angry 'why were they discussing me, then?' Taking a deep breath, he said, "So?"

"My aunt wondered if you would try to find your parents' estate now."

"My parents had nothing." He nearly said have, catching himself in time though he suspected Malfoy knew that they had been living at St. Mungo's all this time. If being insane could be called living.

Malfoy shrugged. "I just thought it interesting. They didn't say much else, but thought you'd be curious. Your Gran never told you about it, did they?" When he refused to acknowledge the query, Malfoy shrugged. "I tried to find out what they could've been referring to, but everything regarding your parents seems to have been sealed."

"Of course it has been," Neville said, his mind whirling. Sealed. What was there to seal? Not for a moment did he believe there was any sort of estate owned by his parents. His Gran would've told him, after all. No matter what Malfoy said. "If that's all, I'd prefer if you'd leave. I have things to attend to."

Malfoy sighed. "Fine." He pulled open the door, then paused, his face suddenly losing its sharpness. "You know, Neville, I really am sorry about your grandmother. I know I'm not the most popular of people," Nevillle nearly snorted at that, "but Harry understood why I did what I did. It's probably impossible for me to make up for the sins of my father, but if there is anything I can do to help with anything--" He shrugged, then slid out the door and was gone.

Neville sat down on the chair, his thoughts whirling. Not so much on Malfoy--he didn't know what to think about that bloke anymore. He didn't know what to think about a lot of things. Now that he was alone, his Gran truly gone and no longer around to run his life and remind him of his inadequacies, Neville was at a loss as to what to do next.

Reaching into his pocket he felt for the waxy paper that had stayed with him throughout the war, keeping him safe, he'd imagined, though it held no magic. Except, perhaps, that of his mother's love, he liked to think. There was no way of knowing what had gone behind the gesture. Probably nothing, as Gran had said. But he'd held onto it nevertheless. He pulled the gum wrapper out and carefully smoothed it in the palm of his hand.

His parents. Alive all these years, but yet he never knew them and never would. Gran had told him some things, and hinted at others, mostly how he had so miserably failed to live up to the expectations she had for her son's child, but there were far more things he did not know. The few pictures he had showed they'd been a happy couple. There was only one with him in it too, and he'd been asleep against his father's chest. Gran had not let him take the picture to Hogwarts. He wondered where it was now. He put the wrapper back in his pocket.

With a sigh he got to his feet, letting himself grimace at the small stabs of pain still ghosting his knee. Five months since the war had been decided in the small clearing in a forest grove and it still ached now and again. Much had happened since then, and then again, not much. He'd spent much of that time dodging reporters and their cameras, avoiding as much as he was able whoever he didn't already know. Hiding out with Ginny, watching over her, as if he'd promised Harry to do so. It made him sad that his friend never even knew he was going to be a father.

Nevertheless, as he stretched out the kinks the short sit on the hard chair had given him, he felt a strange exhilaration coursing through him. A warmth, a thread of something, he wasn't sure what. Great Uncle Algie's words floated in his mind again. He didn't think he'd actually heard them but they did make him feel better.

The door pushed open and George Weasley stuck his head in. There'd be no confusing the twins ever again, Neville thought, though George had come through his brother's loss better than anyone thought he would. Or else he was as good an actor as he was a prankster. George grinned. "There you are. Hiding out, are you? Don't blame you. All those old biddies are gone now. It's safe."

"The reporters?"

George grinned. "Mum sent them packing. Took her handbag to that walrus's backside."

Neville laughed, then stopped.

"It's all right to laugh, you know."

Neville smiled. George was right. It did feel good to laugh.  
"Thanks. Maybe I should pay your mum to help out more often. Or at least for today."

"You will, by coming to dinner tonight. Mum insists. She wants to show off the new house. Your Uncle is already gone to help. Father's cooking. Making fried chicken tonight. With the microwave." He grinned.

Neville winced. "Um, I'm not sure I'll be hungry--"

But George grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him from the room, through the church which was indeed now empty, and outside, where Mr. Weasley waited. Somehow, the elder Weasley had procured yet another automobile. "Come on, just kidding. Their new house is full of gadgets he's not yet figured out how to use and I'm certainly not telling him. Mum begged me not to. That is, unless I fancy her giving out our," he cleared his throat, "my recipe for swear word sparklers. The Americans love them. I'll make a killing come July." He waved to the car and his mother opened the door and got out. George whispered, "She doesn’t know about the window roll-down thing." Neville smiled. "He's coming!" he said to his mum.

"Oh good dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "George, Ginny's going to ride with you. Her father's driving makes her sick."

"I'm a very good driver!" a muffled voice exclaimed.

Mrs. Weasley winked at Neville. "Good is relative where he's concerned. We'll see you tonight?"

"I'll right, I'll come," Neville said, feeling a warmth emanating from Mrs. Weasley that made him long to know her better. Ron truly was very lucky. All the Weasleys were, as had been Harry. "I have an errand to do first though. It shouldn't take me long."

She looked into his eyes with compassion. "I understand. We'll see you in a bit then."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I--" He shrugged, glancing at George who had a slight grin on his face. "Thanks."

"You're welcome dear." She got back into the car. "We'll see you tonight!"

They watched as the Weasleys' automobile lifted, shook so hard Neville figured the tires would fall off, then float away. The lights flashed once and then it disappeared from sight

"Where's Ginny?" Neville asked.

"Waiting in my car."

"Your car? You have one too?"

"Sure do. Look," he said, pointing toward the parking lot. And sure enough, a cherry red two door convertible with its top up waited there. Neville could see someone in the front seat. Ginny. "Wanna quick spin? It's an Austin-Healey. 1960 3000. Rides like a dream."

"Um--"

George clapped him on the back. "Don't you trust my driving?"

"Driving? As in, on the roads?"

He laughed. "Sure, why not? I rather enjoy it actually. Good thinking time." His grin belied the solemn look his eyes. "Want me to take you? I can drop Ginny off and then we can go."

"Um, well, I--"

"Come on. You faced down Voldemort. You can face my driving. I promise you'll enjoy it."

"Maybe next time. Where I'm going can't be reached by car. I don't think. I don't know."

George nodded. "To see your mum. I could tell by my mum's expression."

He stiffened, but after a moment, nodded. "Mother won't understand, but I have to tell her anyway." He clutched the waxed paper still held tight in his fist. "Then I'll come by. Don't let your father offer my great uncle any of that Scotch again, would you?"

George's laughter filled the empty street. "Are you kidding? I plan to join them. We'll save you a glass. It'll do you good, Neville. You need to loosen up." He bounded to the automobile and climbed in. With a roar he started the engine, and with a merry honk that sounded like geese bleating to Neville, took off down the street as smooth as any muggle would.

Neville walked back into the church and to the study, and with a flick of floo powder inside the cold fireplace, left another chapter of his life behind.

 

~ ~one~ ~

 

A Healer surrounded by files looked up from the folder in her hand as Neville walked out onto the fourth floor at St. Mungo's. She smiled. She glanced down the hallway before saying, "How may I help you, Neville?"

Neville hesitated. This was the first time he'd ever been here without his Gran. When the Healer stood, setting the folder aside, he nearly changed his mind about seeing his mother just yet. But as several medi-wizards passed by talking animatedly, their lime-coloured robes swirling and forcing him to step out of the way as they hurried past though they nodded to him, he found his courage.

"I'm here to see my mum."

"Of course. You know the way." She touched him on the arm. "I'm sorry about Augusta. We'll miss her."

"Thanks. Me too."

She smiled again, then returned to her desk. He walked down the hallway, remembering the last time he'd been here. Just a month ago. Then, he'd been treated completely differently.

It'd been a month after Voldemort had died for good, a month since he'd tripped and somehow managed to break through Voldemort's shields long enough to cast the one spell he'd known from experience worked quite effectively. He supposed he had Malfoy to thank for that. Hermione told him later what had happened after his spell had done its magic. Voldemort had screeched, she said, a terrible scream of fury. That split-second Neville provided had been enough for Harry to cast one last killing spell. It had hit its mark even as Voldemort's wand-fire had sliced into the tree next to Neville, sending it crashing down on top of him. That was what had knocked him out. A stupid tree.

But he'd been glad. He hadn't had to witness what happened next. He hadn't had to see Hermione, screaming Harry's name, rush to their fallen friend. It was too late. Harry was dying, had lost too much blood. He died in her arms. But he'd been smiling she said, victorious in the knowledge that he had killed Voldemort and saved the wizarding world. His last words had been "tell everyone what Neville did."

Then he'd died. Hermione kept her promise to Harry. She told everyone what he, Neville, had done.

He'd woken up some days later in St. Mungo's, a hero. A very reluctant hero.

After a month in bed, he'd felt well enough to get up and move about, and decided to visit his parents. He'd never done so by himself, and if he was honest with himself, it was because he had never done so that he decided to that day. He'd found out in quite a rude fashion that he wasn't welcome without Gran. Remembering it now, as he walked down the quiet hallways, accepted the nods and the greetings from patients and healers alike, he fumed. He knew it was irrational, but nonetheless, he fumed.

That day, he'd approached the floor desk. The young healer at the desk frowned at him in his pajamas, robe, and slippers. "May I help you, Neville? Shouldn't you be in your bed?"

"Um, I'm just, well, going to see my father," he stammered.

The Healer looked worried now. "I'm sorry, I'll have to check with Healer Spriggs--"

"Why?" He frowned, starting to feel slightly annoyed. "I know the way." He brushed past her.

"Neville, wait, let me call--"

But he ignored her. Behind him he heard her urgently telling someone to fetch Alistair Spriggs, his father's medi-wizard. Again he nearly hesitated; whenever he was with Gran, they just walked in whenever they wanted. Or at least he'd assumed. Gran never explained to him different. But then she didn't explain a lot of things to him.

While he'd never been in a Muggle hospital, Hermione had told him how they smelled antiseptic, cold. How the one she'd been in when eight to get her tonsils out had been at least six shades of mustard yellow which, she said, was supposedly soothing. She'd been in hospital for three days and claimed still to have nightmares. That a hospital gave her nightmares made him glad for St. Mungo's.

The wizard hospital was anything but antiseptic. The Closed Ward in particular was welcoming, brimmed with flowers that perfumed the air, and beautiful oil paintings that made him think of the Louvre. Gran had had to force him to go to the museum that first time--he hadn't wanted to because he couldn't take Trevor--but once inside, she couldn't get him out without promising to take him again soon. It was almost as good as the day they spent walking through Batsford Arboretum.

Almost.

St. Mungo's fourth floor was a deep red which gleamed beneath his shoes. He could see his reflection, and those of the other wizards who he passed. One or two of them looked at him in surprise but at least here, he wasn't inundated like he was whenever he left the safety of his own home. No reporters here, no ridiculous fans showering him with gifts he didn't want. His regret deepened--he wish he hadn't been jealous of Harry all those years. It'd been even worse for Harry, no doubt. He'd only been a kid, famous for doing nothing but being that certain person. At least initially. No, what Neville had done had brought him the fame and if he'd let it, fortune. But there was no way he'd ever capitalize on what had also destroyed Harry Potter's life.

Footsteps echoed behind him. Quick ones. With a mild 'bloody hell' beneath his breath, he hurried toward his father's room. Nodding to the startled but always-amiable Rini, his father's self-appointed occasional bodyguard, he said, "Let me in."

Rini, being a troll whose life his father had once apparently saved, was not about to let anyone past her bulky presence--except him of course. She wasn't always on duty as she operated on her own timetable of sorts that no one in their right mind dared to argue with, but today he was very glad she was there. She beamed a toothy, rather frightening smile. "Nevi!"

"Rini," he said. "I need to see my father. Now."

She frowned. But just as he thought she'd refuse him for the same mysterious reasons as everyone else, she beamed. "Mr. Longbottom love Nevi."

"Yes, that's right."

She pushed open door. "Nevi, go inside."

"Thanks." He paused, then said, "Don't let anyone else in, Rini."

"Gran?" she said, tilting her massive head to the side. She was short for a troll, and the yellow dress-thing she wore was the only thing that identified her as female, she was so terribly scary looking, but the concern in her soft yellow eyes made him sigh. She really was a sweet creature, even if she did smell a little funny. He needed to be sure and spell her another flower scent spell before he left.

He hesitated. "She's not here."

 

Rini nodded. "Okay fine. Go see Mr. Longbottom, he sick. Rini let no one bother Nevi."

"Thanks." He went in, letting the door shut behind him. He could just imagine Rini's appearance as she stolidly took position. She probably wasn't necessary in here anyway--but then again, who knew? Once his parents had believed themselves safe in their own home.

Rini had said his father was sick. He did look terrible, to Neville. Which he always did--unlike his mother who was insane but at least could hold the semblance of a rambling conversation, his father had lain in this bed, still and grey, for a long time now. The healers had told Gran long ago that there was no help for her son. Ever. Like he was a muggle in a coma, unresponsive. He knew it devastated Gran but she refused to give up on him.

Behind him, he heard someone arguing with Rini. But no sound came from Rini--she didn't need to say a word. There was no moving a stubborn troll.

"Father?" he said, like he'd always done, trying to talk to him at least until Gran had told him to hush, there would be no answer. Neville didn't expect one now. Sitting on the edge of his father's bed in the cool grey room, so quiet except for the sound of his father's shallow breathing, Neville stared at his father's face in such a way as he'd never been permitted by Gran. It felt odd to be here without her, but she'd already visited and gone home for the day.

"Hello Dad," he told his father's still form. There was no answer of course. Never would be. He rested his hand on his father's forehead. Still. Quiet. The sleep of the dead but not.

Not for the first time did he wish his father would die--not out of meanness, but so that his father could find release. He couldn’t understand what was keeping him alive all this time. Brushing the dark locks from his father's face, he said, "Everything's going to be okay now. After I'm released, maybe next week, I think I may go visit Great Uncle Algie for awhile, or maybe wait until after Ginny's baby is born. She asked me to be her coach. I think she's cracked, but I told her I would. Mrs. Weasley is making me a sweater, she is so happy." He laughed to himself, wishing his father could understand just how questionable that honor was.

Although, it thrilled him beyond reason that he was getting a sweater from her at last.

"My knee is getting better, and my headaches are almost gone now. I'm still in hospital for a while though. Just a few floors below you." He fell silent. There was no change in his father's expression, though Neville swore his father's breath slowed a little.

"I'm going to visit Mum, too. Maybe this time she'll remember me. If not that's okay." He stood, still holding his father's hand. "I miss you. Don't know how, but I do. But I'm okay." He squeezed his father's hand, wishing to feel those once-strong fingers squeeze back. Wouldn't happen. "I guess I better go now, see Mum. I love you." He bent down and kissed his father's forehead. He pulled away, looked at his father's closed eyes. "Everything's okay. I'm safe, forever. You can go. You don't have to stay anymore. I'm a very good wizard. Famous even." He snorted at that. "I helped Harry kill Voldemort. He's really dead this time. So you see, it's okay for you to go."

He pulled away; his father did not move. There was no change--nothing. Tears stung his eyes; he wiped them with the back of his hand, then turned to the door. When he opened it, he found himself face to face with a very angry Alistair Sprigg.

"What do you think you are doing ?" Spriggs had demanded. He'd then been summarily escorted back to his own ward's room. Someone watched him from then on, made sure he didn’t try to visit his parents alone. Gran had been furious, but impotent--when she'd found out what he'd done, she'd stormed back to hospital, no doubt to berate him soundly. But an odd thing happened. Surrounded by nurses and curious patients watching from their own beds, for the first time he could remember, she held herself in check.

Neville had not returned to St. Mungo's after he'd been released. He'd not seen his father again before he died. Peacefully, they'd said. Just stopped breathing, and he was gone. Gran claimed she'd told his mother about his father's passing, but of course there'd been no reaction, she'd said as if disgusted. Not that he expected any. He knew to expect nothing from his mother. But that was okay. He loved her anyway.

Now, months later, his hand slipped into his pocket, touching the gum wrapping.

"Hey, Neville, wait up."

Neville snatched his hand out of his pocket, thoughts of the past fleeing. He'd nearly arrived at the women's day room door and hadn't realized it, he'd been so lost in thought. He turned to see a familiar face. He smiled shyly as Katherine, one of the attendants, approached. She wasn't much older than himself, he didn't think, but she always had the same effect on him whenever he saw her--he become hopelessly tongue-tied. "Hi, um, I was just, uh. Hi."

She laughed, hugging him quickly. His face heated and he had to stifle a moan as her scent--strawberries, she smelled like strawberries and not just any strawberries but most definitely giantus amorosus, a half-tamed variety of amorosus with leaves that could give a nasty nip if one wasn't careful. Not that they were in season at this time of year. Except in her hair. He took a deep breath, forgetting himself until her laughter made his eyes shoot open again. She cocked her head to the side, then sighed, touching his face.

"I'm glad to see you smiling, Neville. I'm sorry about your Gran."

"Thanks. Thanks." So suave. "Um, how's my mum today?"

Katherine waved her wand at the door in front of them, opening it. "Actually I think she's feeling a bit under the weather. She's been quiet today. I haven't brought her into the day room yet," she added as they walked through the doorway. It snicked shut then quietly hummed as the protecting ward sealed it again. A necessary precaution for those on this ward, being as helpless as they were, and given how many were put here not due to accident or illness, but at the hands of Death Eaters. Like his mum. No one could wander the Closed Ward without permission. Or unless they had someone on the inside willing to help.

"I can wait," he said, walking beside her. He'd never done that before, and he realized with a sharp jolt he was actually taller than she. He'd thought his trousers seemed a bit short lately. "Is she all right?"

Katherine shrugged, looked up at him as they neared the day room. A couple of wizards approached--she pulled him aside, looking up at him. "Neville, can we talk for a moment?" She looked around them. "In private? Then I'll take you to see your mum. I think you should."

"Of course," he said, a little perplexed.

She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him down the hallway. Katherine pulled open a door he'd passed many times, but thought was a linen closet. When she pulled him inside he discovered that it was a linen closet. And quite dark once the door closed.

"Katherine--"

But she took her wand out, illuminating the room, and waved it at the door. "There. Now we just have to hope no one sees us sneaking out."

She giggled. He liked that sound. But then she turned back to him, the look in her eyes over the glow of her wand made his face heat all over again. Except this time, it wasn't because of any hopeless smitten emotions or the effect of the strawberries, but because of the seriousness on her face.

"I've been working with your mum for about three years, right?" He nodded, puzzled. "Okay. In all the time you've been coming here, have you ever been to your mum's room? Even once?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "No, Gran said I wasn't allowed."

She snorted. "I thought not. That's not true. You could've visited her anytime. I don't think your Gran wanted you to because she didn't want you to know."

"Know what?" he said, incredulous. The second time this day he learned that there was something Gran was keeping from him. If  
he was to believe Draco.

"That's what I want you to see. I'm going to take you to her, but she's really feeling a bit sick, so I just wanted you to be warned. I also think you need to see her files." She made an angry sound. "I think there's lots of things you don't know about your mum and now--" She looked up at him. "I don't mean any disrespect, but I didn't like your Gran much. I think she was way too hard on you. I promise, if she could be, your mum would be proud of you."

Even though your Gran wasn't. He knew those were the words that lingered after her statement.

It was so hard. He felt almost disloyal to his Gran to feel this growing disquiet on the very day she was buried. But Katherine's earnest statement, his own thoughts spoken out loud--way too hard on you--made it really difficult to feel guilty about it.

"Take me to her."

Katherine nodded, waved her wand at the door and peeked into the hallway. "No one's coming." She hurried out and he followed.

"Why the secrecy, anyway?"

"Because I know for a fact your Gran ordered that you not be allowed into your mum's room, ever. Ever. I don't want anyone to stop us. Come on."

He felt like a mouse scurrying through the winding hallways as he followed Katherine. They moved quickly, dodging out of the way of anyone crossing their paths. Her extreme furtiveness really had him wondering exactly what his Gran was like beyond the day room doors to make Katherine actually seem to fear being caught. And, what she'd told them, to keep him away from Mum's rooms.

Corner after corner was turned until he began to feel as if he was in a labyrinth, totally lost, and he'd never find his way back out. Left turns, then right, then left and left again--just how big was St. Mungo's? Given that it was a wizard hospital, the outside could be deceiving. Not that he'd actually been outside the hospital walls. He'd always Apparated there with his Gran.

Katherine stopped so fast he nearly ran into her. "Get back," she hissed, pushing him behind a door. Alistair Spriggs passed by, his face thunderous, his lime coloured robes flying. When he stopped two other wizards passing him in the hallway, his expression grew thunderous.

"Have you seen Katherine?"

"No Spriggs," the one, a short rather plump goateed wizard said. "I'm sure someone else could be of--"

But the wizard cut him off with a slice of his hand. "If you see her, do not let her pass here and notify me immediately."

"Absolutely," the goateed wizard said. "What did she do, might I ask?"

His question fell on deaf ears. Once the medi-wizard was out of ear shot, the goateed wizard mumbled to his companion, "Loonier than his patients, I say."

The other wizard laughed. "It's near tea time. Shall we?"

"I made the mistake yesterday of saying we should call you, that your mum was sick. He was furious and forbade it. I asked why and he said that was none of my business. Later, I looked in your mum's file. I'll give you the copy I made. I hid it in her room, under her bed."

"You made a copy?" he said, realizing he sounded rather dense.

"Yes I did. Come on."

They snuck down the hallway and at last came to a hallway with brightly painted doors, each one a different colour. Katherine walked to the yellow one, then put her hand on it. "Ready?"

Puzzled but a little dazed by the last few minutes he nodded, sliding his hand into his pocket as he always did before he saw his mum. His fingers brushed over the gum wrapper, still safely tucked inside. For the first time that he could remember, he was actually nervous to see her. Always before, his Gran had been there, coaching him on what to say, what to do with his mum. He never questioned it; ever since he could remember, after all, it had been like this.

For the first time, he would be alone with his mum.

"Come on in," Katherine said, her voice soft. Then, she stepped aside so he could see.

Neville took a step inside the room that was his mum's, and had to bite back a gasp of disbelief. He looked at Katherine, at the smile on her face, then at his surroundings.

The room was not a big one. Like all the private rooms at St. Mungo's, it housed a bed and chairs, and a dresser. Ordinary things, though the bed itself was a lovely white four-poster draped with rich blankets and a duvet in a riot of fuschia, orange, yellow and green, pink and purple. His mother lay asleep in the bed.

But it was the walls--the walls!--that had made him gasp like a child at the foot of St. Nicholas. Every inch of the walls was covered in flowers. Not real ones, but ones made out of carefully folded Droobles Blowing Gum wrappers in dozens of shades of red, pink, orange, blue, yellow, purple, and green. They'd been shaped into roses, daisies, crocus, vines with bright pink bougainvillea, tulips and loop upon loop of garlands. He found himself clenching the single wrapper in his pocket. Tried to remember what his mother had said to him that day. He couldn't.

Heat seared him as he slowly walked around the room and looked at the flowers and he realized with a jolt it was fueled by fury. Gran had kept him from this! Why?

"She did this all by herself?" he said, his voice hoarse.

"Yes. That's what your mum does, hour after hour. All the staff bring her their wrappers. She makes flowers, and sometimes birds and even bees. Mostly flowers. Isn't it amazing?"

"She makes flowers," he whispered, in undeniable awe. Why did his Gran prevent him from this? Why hadn't he been allowed to see?

"I don’t understand why Gran kept this from me."

Katherine stepped to the wall opposite his mum's bed. "This I think is partly why. She didn't want you to see this."

He turned to stand by Katherine. On the wall hung a picture. A photograph, of a large house with a lovely garden in front of it. A slight breeze blew across the flowers, every kind of flower imaginable. He recognized more than a dozen with just a glance. Darting bees moved from flower to flower, forever pollinating the blooms that would never die.

"Look up at the house."

He stepped closer, peering past the garden, up wide stone steps to a broad porch. A woman in a bright blue dress stood under the arch, laughing as if in delight. She was pregnant. Her eyes lit up and she waved at him, then she lay her hand over her belly.

His mum.

Neville's eyes clouded with anger. He couldn't help himself. He closed them, gritted his teeth, hard, as he fought to control the roiling emotions. A house. A home. Gardens, his mother--and him, not long before he was born. Not long before his parents were attacked by Bellatrix and left to die. Only they hadn't died. Somehow, they'd lived on until he was safe. And now his father was gone, and his mother was here, in this room, surrounded by flowers that her damaged mind remembered, and this picture…

"Someone sent this picture to your mother when your Gran wasn't here. I think whoever it was hoped to somehow jog her memory, though her file says that it is suspected to have been with evil intent in mind. It came about ten years ago, and nothing else ever showed up. It sort of worked in a way from what her file says but your Gran was furious. It was too late though. She tried to take the picture out but your mum got so upset that she had no choice but to leave it. I don't know why she didn't want you to know, though."

Neville looked away from the picture, and walked to where his mum lay asleep. He picked up her hand, sat on the edge of the bed. He knew why Gran didn’t want him to know. Didn't want him to know about the house, either. He had no doubt the 'estate' Draco had spoken of was the very one in the picture. He regretted now his shortness with Malfoy. He would, he realized, have to talk to him more about it. He had to find that house, and restore it to what it had once been.

Bending down he kissed his mother on her forehead. She woke up as he pulled away. She reached one hand up, her eyes clear for a fleeting moment but then she frowned in puzzlement.

"Are you my friend?" she asked.

His heart squeezed in despair even though she'd said that to him a hundred times or more.

~ ~two~ ~

Neville raised his hand in protest. "No, Mrs. Weasley, I can't, really." Another steak landed on his plate.

"Nonsense. You're skin and bones, Neville. Eat up. You need the protein. There's two more, and have another helping of mashed potatoes." She spooned a helping twice the size of the previous onto his plate. "Algie, you need to get this boy a housekeeper to watch after him. He's wasting away without his Gran to cook for him."

Great Uncle Algie laughed. "I think he'll probably enjoy eating fish and chips for a few weeks yet."

"Fish and chips?" Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "That's nonsense. You'll come to dinner here every night, Neville. Understand? We've plenty of food to share. Now eat."

He groaned even as he obediently picked up his fork.

George leaned over to him. "Just pass out. That's the only way she'll give it up." Then he pretended to fall back into his chair, eyes closed. He snored.

Mrs. Weasley popped her son on the shoulder, making him yelp. "No sleeping at the table."

"Apologize to your mother, son. Else she'll have you doing the dishes," Mr. Weasley said, his voice booming. Great Uncle Algie leaned back in his chair, clearly amused.

"Oh no!" George yelled. The others at the table laughed as George leaped up and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Love you, mum!"

Ron whispered to Neville, "Put your steak on his plate!"

Neville hesitated, but a glance at Ginny and Hermione, seeing their eager nods, gave him the courage to slide the steak onto George's plate. George plunked down in his chair and stared at it.

"Hey," George said. "What the devil--" He tossed the steak back at Neville, but missed the plate, sending it to the floor.

"George!" Hermione said in mock horror.

"George!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed very much in horror.

Within seconds, Ginny's greyhound, Stretch, had pounced and attacked the steak.

"Now look what you've done!" Mrs. Weasley cried, smacking her son again. But it was all in fun, Neville realized as she caught his eye. He realized then even Ron was laughing--Mrs. Weasley had realized it too. She winked at Neville, looking very happy. But thankfully she didn't put another steak on his plate.

Beneath the table, Stretch belched.

Ginny laughed, standing and picking up her plate. "Well, I'll do the dishes, Mum."

Hermione leaped to her feet. "You'll do no such thing. I'll do them."

"Both of you sit down," Mr. Weasley ordered. "George will do the dishes."

"But dad--" George whined.

"I'll help." Everyone turned to face Ron. "Wheel me in there, George. I can do it."

Quickly recovering, George leaped to his feet again. "Right oh, baby bro. Everyone bring their dishes and put this boy to work!" He grabbed the back of Ron's wheelchair and with a yell, zoomed his brother toward the kitchen.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Ginny muttered good naturedly. This time no one stopped her as she made a stack of plates to carry into the kitchen. She had to hold them almost at arm's length, Neville noted, her belly had grown so big. He still couldn't believe she was going to have a baby soon. And that she wanted him to help her. She bumped playfully into his chair. "Eat those up then bring your plate."

Once they were gone, Mr. Weasley stood. "All right then, I'm all for a bit of telly tonight in…" he grinned broadly and clapped his hands in delight, "the media room. Algie? Care to join us?"

"Would rather enjoy that. A movie over scotch sounds like the perfect capper to this long day."

"Excellent. Dear? Molly?"

Loud laughter erupted from the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was still staring at the kitchen door. Her eyes were glassy, a small "oh" escaped her. Mr. Weasley moved to his wife, bent down and kissed the top of her head as he squeezed her shoulders. "They'll be all right. Leave them be."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know Molly. I know. Come now, Hermione's parents sent us another one of those DVD things you enjoy so much! Join us, Hermione?"

She shook her head. "I'll help Ginny." She too stood and picked up several empty dishes. Within seconds, Neville found himself alone. Except of course for the contented dog at his feet.

Stabbing at his plate, Neville realized he simply could not eat another thing. He stood, picked up his plate to carry it into the kitchen, managing a couple of glasses as well. He followed the others, smiling to himself at the bawdy singing now coming from behind the door, though he felt a twinge of sadness that it was unaccompanied by Fred. Entering the room, he saw Ron sitting on a stool at the sink, Hermione's arms wrapped around him as he directed the pot scrubber to do its thing. Neville figured she was lending herself for him to lean against, but Ron certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. Ginny disappeared again with a smile at him to get more of the dishes, while George dried each dish and put it up. There was a dishwasher in the Weasley's new house, but so far he didn't think anyone had tried it, even though Hermione had insisted it wouldn't blow up like the microwave oven had the first time.

He set the plates down, then not knowing what to do with himself trailed after Ginny. He found her bent over the table, her head bowed. Stretch stood guard beside her, clearly worried too. "Ginny?" he said, alarmed. "Do you want me to get your mother? What's wrong?"

She stood, waving her hand. "No, no, I'm fine." She smiled wanly at him, then patted Stretch. She looked really pale. "He kicked me, really hard. It just surprised me."

He stood next to her, feeling awkward. He patted her shoulder, feeling terribly awkward. "A fighter, like Harry." She looked away at that and he about kicked himself. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She took a deep breath then rubbed her back. "Can you rub me right there? It still hurts." He hesitated, his face heating. She laughed. "You won't hurt me. I promise. You are my coach, Neville. Got to get used to touching me."

"I'll have to touch you?" he said, his voice cracking.

She grabbed for his hand, shaking her head as she plunked his hand on her back. "There. And of course you will. You'll do fine." He realized he wasn't close enough so he edged forward. She put her hands back on the table, bracing herself. "Harder," she said, and he did it harder, rubbing the sore spot until she sighed. "There. Perfect. A little to the left."

"My, my, what's going on here?" George boomed behind them. Neville started to jump back but Ginny grabbed him.

"Don't stop," she warned.

George grinned as he grabbed up the rest of the dinner dishes.  
"Thought I was interrupting something there." He winked at Neville.

"No!" Neville said. "She was just hurting, she asked me to--"

"It's all right, Nev! Relax! You're part of the family now. You can rub my sister anytime."

George strode back to the kitchen whistling, leaving them alone. Neville paused, and Ginny stood. She looked after her brother, shaking her head. "Incorrigible." But she was smiling. She looked up at him. "He's right, you know. I think you've been firmly adopted." She touched his shoulder. "Mum's almost done with your sweater." She winced. "I think I need to sit down."

Unsure what to do, he followed after her, as did Stretch. He'd done really well all evening, feeling relaxed and comfortable with her family, but her words bounced in his mind. Part of the family. They really were treating him as such. Why, he really didn't get it, though he knew the Weasleys often picked up strays. They had Harry, every summer. How Neville had envied Harry coming to the Weasleys every summer, whilst his own summers were spent sat around Gran's house, reading quietly so as to not disturb Gran and her friends, or doing chores between visits to his parents. Every day had dragged endlessly, each morning filled him with dread of what that day would bring.

Those days were over now, of course, and yet there wasn't a single time he could look back on during the years with his Gran that he could recall fondly except for those few times she'd take him to visit gardens or museums. All his other good memories, were tied up with Hogwarts, or the rare occasions he was allowed to visit Great Uncle Algie.

A miserable life for a boy.

Ginny curled up on the couch, grabbed a blanket and covering herself with it. Stretch jumped up on the couch and true to her name, stretched out the rest of its length. Neville sat in the chair next to the couch. Ginny looked at him, chin propped on hand. "That freaks you out doesn't it." 

He stared at his hands. "It does a little. You're all so nice to me." He looked up at her. "You have an amazing family. You're so lucky to have so many care about you."

She sighed, settling back on the couch with a slight wince. He jolted but she waved him away. "Don't worry, I just slept badly last night, I think. I have to get up about twenty times a night. The family's great, yeah, but it can be a pain, too. Someone's always watching me," she said, lowering her voice. "I can't move five feet without the hovering. I want to go for a walk, Mum insists on going. I want to go shopping, she makes George take me. The other day, I tried to sneak out of the house to go to a muggle restaurant that Hermione told me about. I wanted to get a chocolate shake from there. They put sprinkles on them." She frowned. "I got half-way there before Dad apparated next to me, and said I'd worried Mum sick. She'd been asleep and I'd only just left!" She sighed. "I just want to be alone for awhile. I never get that, except at night in my room. The thought of staying here after the baby is born makes me sick."

He was stunned. Sick? He never would've thought she would feel like that. "They just care about what happens to you. And since Harry isn't here they probably think they have to do what he can't. Be there for you."

"He wouldn't have been anyway," she muttered. But before he could ask her what she meant, she waved her hand in dismissal. "Anyway. Tell me how it went with your mum? How is she?"

He was relieved at the change in subject, though he remained puzzled by what she said. She'd reacted weirdly to mention of Harry ever since he'd died, though he wondered if he was the only one who'd noticed. "She's a little sick. I went to see her in her room." He told her then what had happened earlier that day. By the time he was done, she was sitting up, her expression one of anger and something he could only think of as eager.

"Oh my gosh! I can't believe that your Gran actually gave instructions to keep you from your mum! What did she think, that she'd live forever? Or that your mum would die first?"

"I don't know. I think that if Gran had not died so quickly she would've changed that." But with her smirk, he had to admit he didn't think it likely. "The room though. It was so amazing. And after what Draco told me--"

"What did Draco say? When?" she demanded. Her eyes widened briefly, he hesitated but not because he didn't want to tell her, but because of the odd expression on her face. Nothing like Hermione's had been, facing Draco at the funeral. In fact, opposite.

"He, um, spoke to me after the funeral. Told me that his mother had mentioned something about my parents' estate."

She nodded, tapping her finger to her chin, her eyes distant. "Yes. Of course."

"What?" he said, feeling rather clueless.

She stood. "Where's the folder?"

"I left it at home."

"Did you look at it yet?"

"No. Not yet--"

She grabbed his hand. "We've got to look in that right away. And we've got to talk to Draco."

"But he told me everything he knew, he said."

She smiled wryly at him. "Oh, I imagine he knows more. He probably got cheesed off at you, so said he didn't know anything else. I'll go with you to talk to him."

"You sure you're feeling--"

"Neville," she snapped. "Don't you start, too." She sighed. "I suppose I should tell mum else she'll send the entire neighbourhood out to find me. I'll be back."

Ginny headed for her parents bedroom. Neville picked up his jacket, pulled it on and wandered back to the kitchen. He peeked in. He was instantly glad he didn't make any noise--George had disappeared, the kitchen sparkled, and Hermione was standing in front of Ron who still sat on the stool. His arms were around her waist, and her arms draped over his shoulders. They were kissing--downright snogging. Embarrassment rushed through him, and a new emotion--envy. Though he knew from Ginny that Ron's recovery had months to go, and he could barely stand up on his own just yet, Hermione loved him, had stuck by him without hesitation. They broke apart and the look in Ron's eyes as he looked up at Hermione made Neville look away.

"Oh Neville, come on in," Ron said. "We were just having a…discussion."

"Is that what you call this now?" Hermione kissed him again, and they quickly lost themselves to their 'discussion' again.

Neville felt his face heat. "Um, sorry. Didn't meant to interrupt. I'm, uh-- Going now."

Hermione broke from Ron and smiled rather bemusedly at Neville.  
"You're leaving?"

He nodded. "Yes. Going home to look through some things of Gran's. Ginny's going with me."

"Good," Ron said. "She's been wigging out lately, trapped here with mum hanging over her." He grimaced. "I can relate to that."

"I'm not hovering," Hermione said, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "Do I?"

Ron's expression made Neville grin. "Um, no of course not, dear." He kissed her. Neville dropped his gaze. "Keep an eye on her though, Neville. She's been complaining of a back ache lately."

"I know, I rubbed it for her." He winced.

At that, Hermione's eyes widened, and Ron grinned. "Hey now, you flirting with my sister?"

"No!" he nearly shouted. "No, it wasn't like that at all. Honest." Besides, he had a crush on someone else entirely. "She said she wasn't sleeping well."

Hermione nodded, looked down at Ron. "I heard her getting up last night about three times."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask their thoughts on Ginny's reaction to the mentions of Harry, but decided against it. After all, they'd been Harry's best mates, whereas he'd hung onto the fringes. And for some reason he felt Ginny didn't want it mentioned. Else they would've known already, right? He agreed with himself on that one.

Ginny came in then. "Ready?"

"I should say goodbye to your mum, too," Neville said.

"She said not to worry, just get me home at a reasonable hour, no later than midnight." She rolled her eyes. "I'm nineteen years old, not nine. What does she think I'm going to do, get knocked up or something?"

Ron burst out laughing. Neville knew his face blazed. "Ginny, you'd horrify mum," Ron said, still laughing.

She grinned wickedly. "I already do. Come on Neville, get me out of here for a little while. Please?"

~ ~three~ ~

Ginny sat next to Neville at his Gran's parlor room table. Stretch lay behind them, her body twitching in doggie dreams--no doubt brought on in vivid detail by the steak she'd wolfed down. Ginny frowned in concentration as she tried to read the Healer's garbled handwriting. She slapped it down in disgust. "These are all well and good, Neville, but I can only understand every fifth word. What is it with Healers, anyway?"

"Hermione told me once that muggle doctors are just as bad. Even dentists. Her parents' have horrific handwriting."

"Maybe we can ask them to decipher these. Or maybe get your friend Katherine to do it for us."

Neville sighed. He was just as frustrated as Ginny, but no way would he invite Katherine here. He'd be too embarrassed. "I can read some of it. It says…" He bent over the red--red of all colours!--ink and frowned. "Subject reacts positively to photographs of family members. Grows agitated, vocalizing loudly and flapping hands." He stopped, feeling sick.

Ginny put her hand on his arm. "I know it must be hard to read this, but it's important. What photographs, for instance? What about her family? Did you ever meet them?"

He shook his head. "I--I don't know. She didn't have any family, supposedly."

"But there were pictures of them. They were your family, too. You deserve to have them."

"They're not in there," he said, looking at the boxes spread out on his Gran's cabbage rose rug. "I've looked through all those."

Ginny stood and walked over to the boxes, carefully kneeling. "Mind if I look?"

"No, of course not." And he didn't. He really liked Ginny. Of all the Weasleys, she was the one who made him most comfortable.

"Keep reading."

He did so, flipping through the pages, occasionally calling out phrases to Ginny as she sorted through the boxes. They kept their examination going for about an hour, when Ginny suddenly groaned, grabbing her back. Neville sprang to his feet, and helped her stand. "You all right?"

She nodded, brushing her hair back from her face. "Just tired." She looked down at the boxes in disgust. "Your Gran was terribly meticulous. There's not a thing interesting in there. No skeletons in her closet."

"Not that I mind." Neville walked back to the table and picked up the sheet of paper he'd been reading. "I think I found the orders to keep me away."

"Oh really," Ginny said, peering at the paper. "You can read that?"

"It's getting easier. Subject's guardian request no visitors be permitted to visit subject on any occasion. All mail must be approved by guardian. Neville Longbottom not to be allowed solo visitation, nor permitted into subject's room. Bloody hell," Neville said.

"What's that other writing?"

It was different handwriting--this a little neater, more delicate. Like a woman's handwriting, perhaps, though Neville couldn’t remember his mum ever having a woman healer. "This is interesting. It is a statement of disagreement. This healer…" He peered at the signature. "Persephone Heldworn, interim healer, believes that Mrs. Longbottom - well at least she uses my mother's name - would benefit from regular communication with her son and other visitors, that she is stable enough to be allowed for short visits home." He stopped. Could not go on. What was written below was almost unbelievable. A return to the previous handwriting. "Subject is not permitted visitors without my permission." The florid, angry signature that followed could not be read, but Neville had no doubt who it belonged to. Alistair Spriggs.

"I think I hate that man," Ginny said.

Neville carefully put the paper back in the folder, and closed it. He'd seen enough. He knew enough. Denied--both he and his mother had been denied each other, their lives carefully orchestrated by the very woman who was supposed to take care of them both. "Ginny, do you mind if I take a short walk for a minute?" He had to get out of the house. To think.

"Of course not. I'll lay down on your divan, if you don't mind."

"It's getting late. Do you want to go home now?"

She shook her head. "No. Will you walk Stretch for me?"

"Sure."

"Her lead is on the floor there. I'd pick it up but I'm afraid I'd fall over."

He scooped up the lead--immediately Stretch leaped to her paws, eager for her walkies. He clipped it onto her collar, which wasn't easy given how much she wiggled. He didn't think greyhounds wiggled but this one certainly did.

Ginny lay on the divan. He covered her with a blanket. She closed her eyes but smiled. "Don't let her take off with you. She'll dislocate your shoulder."

"I'll be careful."

Letting Stretch lead the way, he headed for the front of the house and outside. Night had fallen hard and cool, the stars dull from the city lights. As he and Stretch began their walk, his temper eased. All his life, he'd been careful not to show his emotions overly much lest Gran chastise him. He realized as he picked up his pace--the dog definitely moved fast, or had seen something of interest to her--that he no longer had to do that. If he was angry, he could shout at the world. If he wanted to rant, he could rant. If he didn't want to do something, he didn't have to.

And if there was something he wanted to do, he had every right to do it.

By the time Stretch had successfully completed her business, and he returned to the house to see if Ginny didn't want to go home after all and they'd see Draco in the morning, his head had cleared, and he knew exactly what must be done. But as he and Stretch entered the house, he saw Ginny wrapped up in the blanket, sound asleep. He unclipped Stretch's lead and the dog immediately lay at her mistress's side on the floor. He watched Ginny for a moment, realizing that he would not be disturbing her. She needed sleep. Hoping her parents wouldn't fret he turned the light off, patted Stretch once more, and left them both to their dreams.

~ ~four~ ~

"Well, I guess they didn't send out a search party," Ginny said the next morning. She yawned as she shuffled into the kitchen. "What time is it?"

"It's nine, half past," Neville said. He'd been up for some time, taken Stretch out, showered and had started breakfast. "Hungry?"

She stared at the eggs cooking in the pan, the toast on a plate, and nodded. "Famished." She sat at the table. "See, you can cook. Not so much the helpless bachelor."

"Guess not," he agreed. "I've biscuits in the oven, too."

She giggled. "So do I." At sight of his reddened face she laughed.  
"You're so easy to embarrass, Neville. Why did you make biscuits too?"

"Because I never had. How'd you sleep?"

"Wonderfully! I think I only got up once!" She smiled at him. 

He slid a rasher of bacon onto a plate and set it in front of her, then served her the eggs and toast. It didn't feel that strange at all, he realized, taking care of her. Ginny really was like a sister to him, after all. It was nice to have someone so cheerful around in the morning, too. "I slept pretty well, too. I walked Stretch already."

"Good." She took a bite of her toast, closing her eyes. "Butter. Mmm. Mum won't let me have butter."

"Is it bad?" he asked worriedly. The buzzer beeped and he took out the biscuits, putting two on her plate and two on his own.

"No more than bacon." She helped herself to a slice, then liberally spread strawberry jam on her toast. "I'd really like a shower before we go see Draco but I have no wish to go home." She sighed. "I guess it would be best. I just don't want to endure the questions."

"What questions?" he asked, sitting across from her. He tucked into his own breakfast, but nearly choked on his bacon when she said, "Questions about you and me."

"What?" he squeaked out over the bacon lodged in his throat.

"I am sure that George has assured the parents by now that you and I have become an item and therefore they shouldn't worry that I didn't come home last night. Frankly, that doesn't upset me overly much that they think that." She winced. "Sorry. Would be nice if I asked how you felt about that."

"I, uh--"

"You're not seeing anyone, are you?"

He thought of Katherine. Felt his face heating. "No."

"But there is someone."

"Not really."

She grinned. "Who is she? What is her name?" Her face lit up. "I know! The girl who helped you with the file!"

"Uh--"

"Brilliant! You simply must get her to read that file for you then." She sighed dreamily, looking for a moment like the teenager she should've been. "Katherine, right? I hope she didn't get in trouble for helping you."

"I'll never tell. Besides, I'm taking Mum out of there."

Ginny looked at him in surprise, then nodded, then frowned as she looked around the kitchen. It was avocado green, a truly nauseating colour. His Gran loved avocado green. And cabbage roses. They were represented on every rug in the house, every spread, every piece of furniture. Only his room had escaped, and then only thanks to Great Uncle Algie.

"Not here though I hope."

"No," he said. "That's what I'm hoping Draco will help me with." He felt his ire rising. "I suppose I'll have to pay him to talk. He was a real bastard yesterday."

"And you weren't?"

He looked at her in surprise over his toast, then set it down. And sighed. "All right, just a little. I guess I'll never understand why Harry trusted him."

For a moment, her eyes narrowed as she glared at her bacon, but then she made a huffing sound, looking up at him as she bit a piece off. Waving the rest she said, "But he did trust him, Neville. And Draco proved himself over and over again. No one seems to remember how he sacrificed his own father for the cause, how he saved so many as a result. Including Harry, including me. If he hadn't shown up when he did, you and I wouldn't be sitting here," she finished, thumping her other hand down on the table.

"Um, how do you mean?" he said, a little disarmed by her vehemence.

"Lucius knew about our hideaway, and Draco realized it. Learned that his father fully intended to surround us with Death Eaters that very night. I don't think you were there, actually."

"Um, no, I was with Ron and Hermione."

She nodded. "Draco left his father, and came and talked to Harry. They set up a plan to capture Lucius, but Draco insisted that he could not be captured, that his father had to die." She looked pointedly at him. "Can you imagine that? Acknowledging that the only way to stop your own father was to kill him? Harry said he would do it, but Draco said no." Her voice lowered, and she looked at the wooden fork and spoon hanging on the kitchen wall. He'd knocked that fork off once, breaking one tine. Gran had been furious with him.

"He and Harry and I stayed up together that night, planning what to do. The others were exhausted, had fallen asleep long before. Harry I could tell wasn't too happy about Draco being there, but the more Draco told him what he knew, the more Harry and I both realized just what Draco had done. Given us the key to turning the tide in our favor.

"The next morning we got up well before dawn. I don't really remember if I slept at all but I remember how cold it was, frost touching everything." She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. Neville didn't dare interrupt her. "We got everyone else up, and had them put shapes into their sleeping rolls, then had them sneak out the back and away as far as they could before apparating. Draco wanted me to go, but I stayed." Her face clouded, but she shook herself.

"They came just as dawn broke. We were up in the trees of all things. I had Harry's invisibility cloak. He insisted. He and Draco had dressed all in dark clothes, and rubbed dirt on their faces, and in Draco's hair." She smiled. "He looked, funny black headed like Harry. If he'd had glasses, they could've passed for brothers, they were both such messes. Then they waited, laying low in dips in the ground.

"The Death Eaters arrived. There were four of them, including Draco's father. I'll never forget Harry leaping to his feet, attacking the two Death Eaters near him. I killed the third. She walked right below the tree I was in. She never saw it coming." She swallowed, closing her eyes. Neville held his breath. When Ginny spoke again, her voice shook. "Then Draco appeared behind his father. Lucius whirled around, his wand pointed at Draco. At first he didn't realize who he was suddenly locked in battle with. I didn't know what to do. Lucius was so strong. He could've killed Draco just as easily as Draco killed him. So, I put the invisibility cloak on, got out of the tree and snuck behind Lucius, grabbed his hair and pulled as hard as I could. I could've killed him, but the look in Draco's eyes--" She shook her head, taking a deep breath. She looked at Neville then. "Sorry."

"It's okay. My healers wanted me to talk about what happened when Harry died, they say it helps, but--" He shrugged. "It's hard. Does it help?"

She smiled shakily. "Actually it does. You're a good listener, Neville."

His face heated at the compliment. "Thanks."

"Draco killed Lucius. He fell on top of me. I remember screaming, thought for sure I would die, but Draco dragged his father off me, held me until I stopped shaking. It took forever."

Draco, not Harry. 

"Where was Harry?" he asked.

"I-- I don't remember much. He went to find the others, bring them back so they could get rid of the bodies." She looked down at her plate, poked her eggs. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can eat these now."

"That's okay. I can't either." He pushed his eggs away. "Let's go to your parents' then go see Draco. Having you with me I think he'll help."

"He'll help if you ask him, Neville. He's a good person. Caught in his role just as you and Harry were."

He couldn't argue much with her on that point.

~ ~five~ ~

Neville shook his head in bemusement at Ginny. Rather than go to her parents' house and incur whatever wrath or whatever they would dish out, she insisted on taking a shower and changing into a lavender dress and sweater of Gran's. When she came out of the bedroom to find him sorting once more through the boxes of odds and ends that catalogued his grandmother's life, he thought she looked rather nice. But the comment died on his lips as he realized she held something in her hand.

"I found this in her closet," she said, her voice hushed as if they were in the library at Hogwart's. Not that Hogwart's had a library any longer. It along with most of the school had been all but destroyed. She handed him a large grey envelope.

He stood, taking it from her. She sat on the couch, clasping her hands at her knees, watching him. Puzzled, he glanced at her, back to the envelope.

"Where was it?"

"In her closet. I was looking through it for something suitable, and noticed this. It was taped to the back wall, Neville."

Sure enough, the ends showed where she'd pulled the folder off the wall. He joined her on the couch. She shifted so she could see.

"I'm almost afraid to open it."

"You don't have to be afraid." She took out her wand, making him smile. She grinned back at him. "I'm ready."

He opened the envelope. He slid the contents out onto his lap. "Oh."

"The photographs!" Ginny said, inching closer to him.

He picked them up, and stared at the first in wonder. It was the picture he thought he'd never see again, of himself as a baby, only a few days old, laying on his father's chest. They were both fast asleep, the figures laying so still that he could barely see any movement at all. Just as he'd remembered. "She hid this from me."

"It's beautiful," Ginny said. She took it from him and stared at it with such longing he was jolted away from the direction his thoughts had started to take. He wondered if she was realizing at that moment that Harry would never hold his own child. Her eyes shimmered, but she wiped the tears away, giving it back. "Beautiful. You should frame it."

"It once was." He looked at the next one. It was his mother, an official portrait type of picture. The figure nodded once at him then resumed her serious, authoritative pose.

"She looks rather commanding, doesn't she?"

"She was back then. She was a very strong woman, and lots of people looked up to her. From what I hear," he said, thinking of her now. Are you my friend?

The other pictures were more casual--pictures of his mother and father in a vehicle like the one Harry and Ron had driven to Hogwart's second year, his mother in a bathing suit on the beach. His father in a curious suit that looked like knickers and a triangle-patterned sweater, holding a golf club. Seamus played golf in the summers, he'd once told Neville. Neville was sure he could never coordinate himself enough to swing that thing and hit a ball square on. He'd no doubt make a fool of himself. And now he learned that his father played. He hadn't known.

They sorted through the rest of the pictures, Ginny grinning. But toward the bottom of the stack, something caught his eye. He pulled out that photograph, looking at her in surprise. "The house!"

"It is?" she said, taking it from him. "Wow, Neville it is beautiful. And there's your mum on the porch."

"I'm not in that one though. The other one, she's pregnant with me. She's huge."

She laughed. "Like me?"

He wasn't going there. "Look on the back."

She turned it over. Someone had written in a precise hand Talybont-on-usk. "I guess it's time to go visit Draco."

"I don't know where he lives though."

She stood, looked down at him, her eyes hardening. "I do."

~ ~six~ ~

"All right, this is it," Ginny said. "That's Draco's home," she said, pointing down the lane.

Neville frowned as they came to the cottage's front gate. Located just outside of Surrey, Draco's home was nothing like Neville thought it would be. Two storeys with a bright blue door, the house's grounds held the promise of a cheery garden once spring thawed the snow and ice covering it now. Smoke billowed out of the stone house's chimney, evidence of a warm and welcome fire inside. Behind them stretched a snow-filled field was edged by a few leafless trees. There were neighbours, but they were quite in the distance, with the village easily seen a couple of kilometers away. It was… "Nice. Not what I expected."

She grinned. "I know. Quaint, isn't it? Come on."

She walked through the gate. Neville followed, his curiosity spiking again over Ginny's behavior. She knew this place. Had known how to find Draco--in the heart of a muggle community no less--had know just where to apparate so they would not be seen. And what was most intriguing was Stretch. The greyhound bounded toward the door and started to bark.

They both had been here before. "Ginny," he said, but she turned her head and shook it. She stopped a few feet from the door. He stopped halfway up the walk.

This was very strange.

The door flung open. "Stretch?" Draco Malfoy looked down at the dog in surprise, then jerked his head up and saw Ginny. His eyes widened, he took a step out, one hand trying to stop the dog who leapt past him inside. Then his face hardened. Neville swore he saw Ginny flinch. "What are you doing here, Ginny," he stated flatly, pulling back. Then he saw Neville. And smirked. "Oh. I see. Escort?"

Ginny lifted her chin and said, "Yes. Neville is here to see you."

"And what about you?" He glared at her.

"You told him you wanted to help. If that's not the case, please get Stretch and we'll go."

"Did I say I wouldn't help him? I asked what you were doing here."

Neville had no idea what was going on, but he needed to do something before wands were drawn. Not that even a Malfoy would draw a wand on a pregnant witch. He hoped. He stepped in front of Ginny. "I asked her to come with me." Not knowing what else to do, he pulled out the picture and held it out to Draco. "Do you know this place?"

With a lingering, scornful gaze at Ginny, Draco took the picture and looked at it. "Your parents' house?"

"Yes. Look on the back."

"Talybont-on-usk." He handed it back. "That's in Wales."

"I know. I was just wondering if you knew anything else." His breath came out in a puffy cloud. "It's freezing out here. Might we come inside?"

"Neville Longbottom, daring to set foot in the snake pit?"

"I don't think you're so tough, Malfoy. At least, not like you try to make me think." He swallowed, rather amazed at his gumption. Wondering where it came from. And, deciding he liked it. "I just want to know what you know, and then we'll leave."

Draco stared at him for a moment, then turned on his heel. "Fine. Come on in then," he said over his shoulder as he limped inside.

Motioning for Ginny to go ahead of him they walked inside. Neville closed the door behind him, stomping the snow off his feet. Ginny walked over to the fire that roared as promised in the fireplace. Draco sighed and handed her a blanket, which she took. Stretch had plopped herself down in front of the fire, once more living up to her name. Neville sat on a small divan as Draco indicated, and then the wizard pulled up another chair and sat on it. Stretch got up at that and wiggled over to Draco, who grabbed her head between his hands and bent and kissed her forehead, making the dog whine.

Odd.

"Good dog, Stretch. Miss me?"

Odder and odder still.

"What did you keep from Neville?" Ginny suddenly said. She looked like she wanted to drag Stretch away, but instead she scowled at her dog.

"Who said I kept anything from him?"

"Because you always keep something, Draco."

He smiled. Neville shifted, once again feeling left out of the conversation. "Perhaps I did. What's in it for me, Ginny?"

"The truth," she stated flatly.

"The truth," Draco repeated. "Why should I believe you." His voice was soft, dangerous. Neville wondered if he'd need his wand after all.

"Because I'm tired, I'm pregnant, I'm having contractions--"

"WHAT?" Neville said, bolting upright.

Ginny waved him away. "Have been for a week now. No big deal. I think."

Draco stood. "No big deal? You're about to have Potter's baby, and it's no big deal?" He laughed. "Bloody hell it's no big deal." Ginny's nose flared. "Fine." He pulled his wand out--Neville almost reached for his--but Draco used it to snap open a drawer in the desk in the entranceway. An envelope winged its way to Neville and fell in his lap.

Another envelope. So many secrets contained in envelopes--

Draco sat, draping himself casually over the chair and watched him.  
"Found it in my mum's things she'd recovered from our home. There wasn't much, but that survived."

Feeling a sickening curl of fear and anger in his stomach, he opened the envelope, noting once it had been sealed by wax, and pulled out the folded paper inside. He pulled the paper apart, realizing it was a map.

"Your Talybont-on-usk is that red mark. Think you might want to go visit sometime."

Neville nodded, too stunned by what he held in his hands to respond more than that. It was a map, yes, but more than a map. There were notes on it, scrawlings made by an angry, feminine hand. His parents' name, an address, the name of a spell that he didn't recognize.

"Operio?"

Draco snorted. "You really didn't pay attention in class did you?"

"I did so," Neville said, but he didn't feel like arguing. "But I don’t remember this."

"Reveal," Ginny said. She took a deep breath. "Your parents hid their home. No one knows where it is, except your Gran did of course."

"My mother knows," Draco said.

Neville stared at Draco, then at Ginny. He stood, feeling a surge of anger and disbelief racing through him. "How? How did she? What is this map?"

Draco held up his hand. Neville fumed, but quieted. "After I found this, I paid a little visit to my mother to ask her that very thing. First though, I asked her point blank what she'd meant by what I'd overheard. She was not thrilled I asked about her gossiping let me tell you, but then admitted you'd figure it on your own now that your grandmother wasn't around to make sure you didn't."

"What did she mean by that?" Neville demanded. "Figure out what?"

"Stop being so cryptic, Draco. Just tell him," Ginny said, glaring at him.

Draco snorted. "Your Gran, at least according to my mother, if you choose to believe her, somehow purposely kept you forgetful. Can't asked questions about what you can't remember, correct?"

"Oh come on, Draco, you aren't serious," Ginny said.

Neville shook his head. "That's ridiculous. I'm just naturally forgetful."

"Are you? Been lately? Since she died?"

Neville paused. "No."

"Point made."

But Neville shook his head. "I don’t believe it. I can't. No." If he did believe Draco, that would mean--

He couldn't believe his Gran would do that to him. She'd done a lot to keep things from him, but that? Make him… stupid… on purpose? Flashes of all the humiliating moments in his life flipped through his mind. The horrifying mistakes he made in Snape's class, the points taken away from Gryffindor because he couldn't remember the simplest spells. The torment he'd endured by the very man before him now. Caused on purpose by his Gran? To what end? Why?

"No," he said again. "I refuse to believe it."

Draco shrugged. "Believe what you must."

"What else did she say," Ginny said. 

"Not much else. Except she gave me the same name on the back of the photograph. And, told me Bellatrix knows."

"What do you mean by Bellatrix knows?" Neville demanded.

"She lives there, Neville. I went there last night, after I left my mother. I didn't get too close, but close enough. She's used it as her hiding place for years, I suspect."

"Oh Neville," Ginny whispered, staring up at him. "That can't--" She shook her head. "No way."

"Bellatrix is living in my mum's house," he repeated. His whole body went numb.

"Apparently so. I'm not sure for how long, possibly just recently, but it seems your Gran was aware of the possibility at least. She's definitely there now along with a few of her closest Death Eater friends and a resident giant or two besides."

Ginny leaned forward. "Neville. The picture. The picture sent to your mum. What if Bellatrix sent it? Maybe that's how your Gran came to realize that Bellatrix knew where it was? How long ago was that? Ten years ago? You were ten, eleven? The timing makes sense."

"Your mum has a picture of the house?" Draco said.

Neville nodded, still stunned by what Draco had told them, and Ginny's reasoning. It made complete sense. "In her room at St. Mungo's. Gran would never let me go in there."

No matter the timing though, Bellatrix was in his mum's house now. Bellatrix, the woman who had stolen his parents' lives, and ruined his own, living in his mother's house. And, Gran had known, and done nothing about it.

"She never wanted you to see proof of her deception." Draco stood.

"She never wanted me to see the other pictures, either," he said. He stood and walked over to the fireplace, placing his hands on the mantle, staring into the flame. "She never wanted me to see. She never wanted me to know anything about my parents' lives. She kept it all from me!"

He whirled on them both, his breath coming in short bursts. "She lied to me, all these years! She knew where Bellatrix was!" He almost shouted the last words at Draco. He wanted to punch the man, punch anything. Gran had lied to him, kept everything-- He wanted to rage, tear down, he wanted to--

His anger suddenly fled. Ginny had stood, moving closer to Draco, her face compassionate, as was… Draco's.

"She kept it from me to protect me," he whispered.

Ginny nodded, then reached out to touch his arm. He didn't flinch--he was suddenly too drained to fight the anger anymore. He sat.

"That's why I didn't push it yesterday," Draco said, sitting down again. "I realized I had bad timing." He snorted softly. "As usual. You were too angry still to learn what I suspected. I was afraid you'd go off and do something half-cocked and get yourself killed. That would be stupid at this point, don't you think? Bellatrix is almost as powerful as Voldemort was."

"Why is she still hiding then?" Ginny said.

Draco shrugged. "Waiting. Biding her time. It's only been a few months since Voldemort was destroyed, and the other Death Eaters--" He paused at that. "Since they were all killed." Ginny put her hand on this shoulder and looked up at him. Draco looked away, but did not draw away. The anger seemed to have left them, too, or temporarily made them forget they were in some sort of argument.

Neville took a deep breath. "I'm tired of fighting. I don't want to do it anymore." He snorted. "Some hero, huh. What should I do though?"

Ginny said, "We take this to my father, that's what. He'll be sure the information gets in the right hands." She winced. "Besides, I think you'll be busy, Neville."

He frowned. "Doing what?"

She smiled wanly. "Helping me have my baby?"

"W-what?" Neville sputtered.

"Yeah--I don't feel too well."

"Brilliant," Draco said grimly, getting to his feet. "Sit down, woman."

"Watch it, I can still kick your-- Ouch!" Ginny sat.

Neville leaped to his feet as it finally dawned on him what Ginny was saying. "Oh my gosh. Oh no, bloody hell, what do we do? Boil water? I don't know what to do!" Neville ran into the kitchen, realizing he truly didn't know what he was doing, and headed back to the others. And… stopped. Stared.

And understood. 

Draco knelt beside Ginny, his hand on her belly. Her hand covered his. She murmured something to him and nodded. Neville gulped as an incredible look of wonder and disbelief crossed Draco's face. To his shock, Draco bent his head down on their now-clasped hands, and closed his eyes. His shoulders shook.

Neville swore he was crying.

"Bloody hell," Neville whispered.

Ginny's head snapped up-- a look of horror crossed her face. "Neville--"

But he shook his head, realizing something important as Draco too looked at him, narrowed his gaze in… challenge? He breathed out. "Thank heavens. Now I don't have to be the one to tell you when to push."

~ ~seven~ ~

They had asked him to go to the village and find the midwife who lived there. A muggle woman who Draco said could be trusted--her sister had been a wizard, but died in a tragic accident at Hogwart's her first year. Upon delivering the kindly woman and her bag to Draco's room where he'd moved Ginny, Neville sat down to wait. Then he stood and waited. Then paced and waited, dying to know what was going on, desperately glad he didn't know first hand. Then he took Stretch for a long walk, came back and tried to eat something, all the while staring at the closed bedroom door.

At last he heard crying. A baby. Then Draco emerged, grinning, exhausted, limping badly. "Now you can go."

"What is it, then?"

"A girl. And she's not a redhead! I've got to go back in there."

Neville stared at Draco for a moment, then held out his hand. Draco took it. "Congratulations, mate. I'm really happy for you. I'm really happy it wasn't me in there."

Draco shocked Neville by pulling him into a hug. Neville tensed and Draco whooped, oblivious, and let him go. "I'm a father! Me! She's beautiful!" 

Neville was glad when Draco stopped thumping him on the back and headed back to Ginny. Bemused by the former Slytherin's joy, Neville and Stretch left to carry out the second thing Ginny had asked of him. He didn't think it right, somehow, to see the baby before her family did. He Apparated to the Weasley's home, finding them watching the telly.

"Neville!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Where's Ginny?"

"Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, I have something to tell you--"

"What! Where's my daughter?" Mr. Weasley leaped to his feet.

"Arthur--" Mrs. Weasley gasped.

"No! She's fine oh I'm terrible at this!" Neville said hurriedly. "And because I'm terrible at this she had the baby today. It's a girl!"

They stared at him, then stared at each other.

"A girl?" Mrs. Weasley said faintly. She smiled. "I wasn't there? She didn't want me--"

"No! It just happened too fast. I, oh this is terrible."

"What's terrible," Mr. Weasley demanded. "Sit down son and tell us everything."

"Everything?"

"Where is she?" Mrs. Weasley demanded.

Neville winced. Here it is, Neville thought. "She's with, um, well--"

"Spit it out, man."

"The baby isn't Harry's, it's Draco's. She's with him. They're in love. Draco was there, he helped, I didn't, they're at the house, he says the baby is beautiful and Ginny is okay and--"

The Weasleys stared at him. He knew he'd just sent their world teetering. Or crashed it.

"Molly," Mr. Weasley said, turning to his wife. "Draco? Not--" He looked up at Neville, bewildered. "Are you certain?"

Neville nodded. "They love each other, Mr. Weasley. Draco is the one who saved Ginny's life that night. Not Harry. She and Harry never, um--" His face heated.

"Draco," Mrs. Weasley said in a small voice. "Draco. Draco. A Malfoy. My granddaughter is a… Malfoy." Mrs. Weasley drew in her breath and breathed out, eyes closing and opening again, calming herself visibly in the single action. What she said next made Neville's heart nearly burst with unaccountable pride and admiration. "Well. Draco Malfoy and Ginny in love. Fleur turned out well in the end, perhaps Draco will too." Her smile trembled but she stood. "Where are they?"

"Draco's home, in Surrey."

"Oh my," Mr. Weasley said, his face still pale. Neville stood nervously and waited, waiting for the shock to play its course.  
"Well. Not Harry then, as you say."

"No sir. Harry knew they were, um. He's an okay bloke," Neville assured them. "He's… surprised me. He's very excited."

"Why didn't he tell us himself?" Mr. Weasley said.

"Because he only found out it was his baby today, sir. He thought it was Harry's too. He couldn't leave Ginny, and, well, Ginny asked me if I would break the news to you. I said of course."

"Why didn't she tell us, all this time?" he said. Mr. Weasley slumped on the couch. "My own daughter, afraid to tell me the truth."

Mrs. Weasley patted his shoulder. "We can discuss this later, Arthur. Our daughter needs us. A Malfoy though. Oh my. What if the baby is blonde?"

Mr. Weasley stood. "Not likely. Redheads always win out."

"Um, actually sir, she is blonde," Neville said.

Mr. Weasley startled, then spread his hands in defeat. "I wish she had told us, but now is not the time to fuss. Take us to her, will you Neville? Our first grandchild has been born!"

"I'll take you."

They all turned. It was George. A huge smile split his face. "So, they finally know," he said to Neville. He leaned against the door's frame, eating an apple as casually as if this were old, boring news. Which, Neville realized, it was to him.

"You knew?" Mr. Weasley said, finding his voice.

"Yup. Ginny didn't realize I knew though." His smile faded, turned sad for a moment. "Fred told me, before he died, what he suspected. Swore I had to keep it secret, and keep Ginny safe. I have." He stood. "Frankly I'm glad it's over. I'm tired of tagging after her. That's how I found out, after all. She kept going to his cottage, staring up at his house. She never went in."

"Mr. Weasley, there's more," he said. Mrs. Weasley paused. He gulped. "Draco figured out something very important, that he told us tonight. We think we know where Bellatrix is hiding."

At that, Mr. Weasley's expression completely changed. He drew himself up to where he seemed to tower over Neville. "Bellatrix." That's all he said, before he turned to his wife. "Molly--"

"Go," she said. "You'll just be in the way anyway. George?"

"Yes ma'am." He looped his arm through his mother's and they Apparated.

Mr. Weasley turned to Neville. "Ministry of Magic, my office," he said, and he disappeared. Neville quickly followed.

~ ~ eight ~ ~

"Neville, where do you want this bunch?"

Neville stood, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Over there," he told Draco. "They go in the hedge behind the stone bench." He watched as Draco, shirt off and skin drenched, jerked with his chin to the two muggles behind him. Like he, they carried large tubs of rosa canina, which, fortunately, were still in bud form. The blooms would eventually be the size of Stretch's head, and would like to be petted just as much. Perfect for beside his mum's special bench.

Neville returned to his work, wincing a little at the ache in his back, the sting of his hands as they gripped the hoe he'd been using. Working with plants the muggle way was quite different than he'd expected, but over the months since the Battle of Bellatrix--as that last, unprecedented and unexpected fight was called--he'd come to appreciate what good hard work could produce.

Draco too seemed to be enjoying himself, though the former Death Eater still limped when he was tired. And he was that often, between working with Neville to restore his mum's gardens to their former glory, and staying up half the night playing with his daughter. They'd named her Augusta Rose, though to Ginny's horror Draco insisted on calling the little girl Augie. Neville thought it was cute. He couldn't believe she was almost eight months old, and trying to walk. He watched her now as Ginny played with her on a blanket whilst talking to Hermione.

Hermione had been the last to win over regarding Draco, but Neville had been with her when she first saw Augie. With the baby's snowy-white hair and bright blue eyes and elfin-shaped face, there was no way anyone but Draco Malfoy could've been that baby's father.

"Blimey," Ron said, and Hermione said, turning to Ron with her eyes shining suspiciously, "Maybe I want one after all. She's beautiful! But not yet. Someday. In ten years or so, I think." Ron had been pleased at that, and Ginny had let out an audible sigh of relief.

Since then, and once all the final wards and spells had been cleared from his parents' home--which, he'd discovered, had been purchased by his parents a few weeks before they were attacked and even Great Uncle Algie hadn't known about it--he'd immediately put his plan in action. First task of course was to reveal the house for once and all. That had taken more than his own magic--a whole team of wizards had worked to restore the memories of those muggle neighbours who had been spelled to forget the house, and to replace all those muggle memories with knowledge of the area--a large empty field to them--with the awareness that Longbottom Manor had always been present in the valley just past the old grist mill.

A Herculean task.

And now, everything was nearing completion. Neville's only regret of the last few months was that somehow he'd lost the gum wrapper his mum had given him. But he'd found he could survive without it. He finally had meaning in his life. Restoring the gardens, providing much-needed jobs in the groves for the locals, and, much to his delight, George had decided to open a potion division, headed by Draco. Draco's Draughts, Etc. would need a steady supply of plants and he was just the wizard to provide them. Great Uncle Algie would handle the rare plant expeditions for now. Neville had no intention of leaving his mum's home anytime soon.

His home.

Draco and his helpers finished planting the shrubs they'd carried in, and once the muggles had left again, leaving him, Draco, Hermione, Ginny and the baby and of course Stretch alone, he took out his wand and quickly straightened up the last bit of the garden. He looked around him in satisfaction, the others watching him as he surveyed his new kingdom. He did feel rather like a king. He had so much more than he ever thought he would. Friends, family, and he was a god father, too.

They'd planted fruit trees--apples, Valencia oranges, figs, plums. Persimmon, lemons, and even avocado. Live oak, Cork oak, Blue oak saplings created a mini forest at the far end of the garden. He'd replaced the half dead apical meristem with a cedrus deadora. His mother appeared to have loved Bonsai trees, so he'd planted a liquid amber and jacaranda as well. He'd planted palms--Sago and King and Vietnamese Fish Tail Palms that more than once had flapped at muggles, startling and confusing them. Draco had laughed at that. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, Neville supposed.

And the flowers of course--jasmine, arelia, Camelia, Nandina, Birds of Paradise--muggle variety, he'd been very careful there--and Gerber daisies and daylilies, roses of every variety he could find promising to fill the garden with heaven in the years to come.

Canna, Pentas, Alstromeria, Penstemmon, Baby's Breath, lavender which already had attracted dozens of hummingbirds. Hundreds of flowers, hundreds of plants. He'd restored and replaced them all just for her.

He nodded once, leaning on his hoe. "It's finished."

"It's beautiful, Neville," Ginny said. "She'll love it."

"I hope so," he said. "I hope so."

~ ~ nine ~ ~

Neville walked down the fourth floor hallway at St. Mungo's for what he intended to be the last time. Without hesitation, he bypassed the day room, not bothering to cast it a glance. Those memories no longer held anger for him. He understood now what his Gran had done, and most importantly why.

She'd loved him.

Whether or not that was true he had no way of truly knowing for she never spoke the words, but he believed in his heart that was the reason why she'd kept him away from his mum's room once that picture arrived. Not to deny him the magic of his mum's flowers, but to keep him from asking what house was that on his mum's wall. She would no doubt have answered his mild curiosity to his satisfaction, but he had a restlessness in him that eventually did prove to be impossible to satisfy. He would've pushed to know, then in time, demanded it. He was growing stronger--fighting death itself had brought him that--and he would've, he knew, lost his fear of his grandmother.

She wouldn't have been able to keep it from him much longer. Not much longer at all.

"Mr. Longbottom. May I help you?"

Alistair Sprigg. Just the man he wanted to see. Neville stopped, and turned. He'd almost reached his mother's room. He looked at the older wizard, not bothering to hide his distaste. "No, Mr. Spriggs, you may not."

"I must ask that you return to the day room to visit your mother. I will bring her--"

"No sir. You will not bring her to me. I shall go see her."

Spriggs stared at him, clearly taken aback. But he found his voice. "Neville, you do not have permission to see her. You know the rules. I must insist--"

Neville raised his chin. Several wizards who had heard them speaking--Spriggs' voice had escalated--stopped and watched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Katherine emerge from a room, a stack of folders in her hand. She grinned at him.

"She's ready, Neville."

Spriggs whirled on her. "Ready? What do you mean? Ready? I removed you from Mrs. Longbottom's case. I warned you, Miss Cabbott, that if you--"

"Oh do be quiet," Katherine said. "I just gave notice. Fire me, I don't care." She said to Neville, "Would you like company?"

"No," he said. "I'll see you back at the house." He turned to face Spriggs. "Mum's house. We'll be there shortly. Both of us."

Alistair Spriggs sputtered. "You have no right, you can't take her out of here!"

"I have every right," Neville said calmly, removing a paper from his pocket. He handed it to Spriggs. The wizard stared down at it, then stepped back.

"What is it?" he said.

"It's the final statement of review of my mother's file." He grinned. "I believe you will recognize the handwriting as that of Persephone Heldworn? The new chief of the Ministry of Magic, Healing?"

Spriggs' face reddened. "How dare you," he whispered. "What did you do? How did you get that file?" He turned to Katherine. "You." He took a step forward. "YOU!" He raised his hand as if to curse her. She dove behind another wizard but it was something else entirely that stopped Spriggs.

Rini's large hairy mitt clenched Spriggs' wrist. "You not hurt Katherine. Neville. You are bad wizard, Alistair Spriggs."

The wizard fell to his knees, his face white with agony.

"Rini," Neville admonished. "I said not to hurt him."

She let go, sighing. "No fun."

Alistair cradled his arm. "I'll get you for this, Neville Longbottom.  
And you too, Katherine." Rini bent over and snarled in his face. The man screamed, and fainted at her feet.

Two of the wizards watching Neville suddenly recognized. One was the short goateed wizard who he and Katherine had seen when they hid that first day she was taking him to see his mum in her room.

The wizard sighed, then carefully examined the unconscious Spriggs' wrist. "It's not broken, but I'll take him to be certain. And don't worry. He won't cause you any trouble, Mr. Longbottom. Katherine." He nodded at her. "We'll miss you around here. Sure you won't stay?"

"I'm sure." She glanced shyly at Neville. His face heated. "I'm going to be helping Neville take care of his mum."

The wizard nodded. "You are taking her home then. I heard about the manor, the gardens."

"You're welcome to visit, sir," Neville said. "We'd like that."

"Perhaps I will, on summer holiday." He winked. "I've just accepted a position at Hogwarts. I'll be running the infirmary."

"It's reopening?" Neville said, feeling an unaccountable rush of joy. This day was truly getting better and better.

"Certainly is. If you're ever of a mind to turn your hand to teaching, Neville, I'm certain that your expertise with plants--"

Neville stepped back in horror. "Teach? No thank you. Sir. Thank you. I--"

The wizard laughed. Alistair Spriggs stirred at his feet. "All right then. Come on, Phinn. Let's get you taken care of." He took out his wand and waved it over the wizard. Neville looked at him in shock. "Our little secret," he whispered, and then he and Spriggs apparated.

"Did he just do what I think he did?" Katherine said, laughing.

"I think he did."

Rini sighed. "No fun, no memory. Was looking forward to fight."

Neville grinned. "Take Rini with you, Kat?"

"Of course." She reached up and kissed him. "See you in a few minutes." The two women--or rather, woman and troll--disappeared.

Neville once again was alone on the Closed Ward. But this time, he proceeded to his mum's room without incident, though slightly woozy from Katherine's unexpected kiss. He found his mum's room then knocked lightly though he knew his mum wouldn't answer.

Walking into the room, he smiled to see her sitting in her chair. Katherine had dressed his mother in a pretty new dress Ginny had picked out, a dress covered with flowers just like the garden. She had on a hat, and new shoes. She looked up at Neville, puzzled.

"Hello, mum," he said, approaching her. She looked up at him, then reached for his hand. She pressed something into it, then dropped her hands, and turned her head to look at the flowers on the wall. He opened his hand--it was the gum wrapper he'd lost, faded and worn. She'd made it into a flower.

"Thank you," he said. He crouched down so they were eye level, grasping her lightly on the shoulders so she would look at him. He kissed her on the cheek. "I've come to take you home."

She stilled. Looked at him, her eyes clearing for a brief moment. She reached up, her hand, warm and soft, cradling his face. "You are my friend," she whispered.

He nodded. "Yes, Mum, I'm your friend. Let's go home."


End file.
